


Any Other Name

by PepperPrints



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 16:56:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperPrints/pseuds/PepperPrints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was relieving to think about something pleasant in this place, and the mystery of Major Kimblee's name was proving quite the pleasant distraction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> For 31_days. Prompt: there is no red rose. I admittedly took some liberties with Basque Grand's attitude.

The names of alchemists had a certain power to them.

 

For Alex himself, his title was very much straightforward, and he could say the same of his comrades Roy Mustang, or Giolio Comanche – the Flame Alchemist and the Silver Alchemist. One heard those names, and knew what to expect.

 

That was what made Major Kimblee so puzzling.

 

From the moment he heard the name, he began to wonder about it. The Crimson Lotus... what did that entail? What did Kimblee's alchemy look like? The alchemists were mostly spread apart on the battlefield, their rare power divided evenly on their assault, so Alex never saw the man in action. He rarely even found a spare moment of his time to inquire with the man himself.

 

The thought so consumed him, and Alex supposed it was a sort of escape. It was relieving to think about something pleasant in this place, and the mystery of Major Kimblee's name was proving quite the pleasant distraction.

 

Alex dared to approach him one day, finding the man – of all the things – redoing the tie in his hair. It was such a casual little gesture, but somehow it seemed intimate, and Alex felt reluctant to intrude. Kimblee was humming to himself as he brushed his fingers back through his hair, which struck Alex as startling. Who could find the spirit to sing in this place? He supposed they all had their outlets to this hell.

 

Nervously, Alex cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon, Major...”

 

Kimblee lifted his head. The tie for his hair was caught between his teeth; Alex hadn't noticed that. Kimblee reached to pull it out so he could speak, which meant he had released his hair, sending it spilling down his back again. It was such a simple gesture, but Alex was fixated on it.

 

How did he keep his hair looking so smooth? It flowed over mostly-bare shoulders... his undershirt left enough of his skin exposed, and dark hair emphasized his pale complexion and the color of his eyes.

 

“Ah, Major Armstrong, yes?” Kimblee said, offering out a tattooed hand. “A pleasure.”

 

“Yes,” said Alex thickly, very much forgetting himself. He shook Kimblee's hand stiffly, utterly unaware that he was staring. Suddenly, he came back to reality and remembered his manners. “I don't mean to disturb you--”

 

Kimblee waved his hand, as if to dismiss the concern from the air itself. “Not at all,” he insisted, and his hands again went to his hair. “What can I help you with, Major?”

 

Kimblee's arms lifted when he pulled his hair back, showing the muscle of his arms, the definition of his chest – the undershirt really did nothing for the imagination. Especially when it was damp with sweat, the thin material clinging against his skin.

 

Alex suddenly forgot why he was here at all.

 

“Crimson Lotus!”

 

Oh yes, that was it.

 

The shout came from someone else: Brigadier General Basque Grand. The Iron-Blood Alchemist was stomping his way over, looking none too pleased, and Alex quickly stiffened to salute.

 

However, the Brigadier General didn't seem to notice him at all. He was glaring down at Kimblee with such intensity that it gave him blinders. “Ah, Basque Grand,” said Kimblee pleasantly, and again his hair was released and let down. He had to stop doing that for Alex's sanity. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

The man's hands clenched tightly at his sides. “That is not how you address a superior officer,” he pointed out sharply. “This is a war; not a dinner social. Where is your jacket?”

 

“Hm? Oh.” Kimblee idly pushed a few stray locks of hair back behind his shoulder. “It got dirty, so I discarded it.”

 

“You--” For a moment, the Brigadier General looked utterly baffled and murderous at the same time. “You can't just discard your damn uniform, Crimson Lotus!”

 

“Then fetch me a clean one.”

 

Basque Grand froze, and so did Alex. There was such a levity in Kimblee's tone, making him sound utterly disarming and well-intentioned despite the boldness in his words. No one had ever made such clear insubordination sound so sweet. Kimblee smiled, so very pleasantly, and he had a point that could not be argued with: at the end of the day, if Basque Grand wanted him in uniform, he needed to be brought a new coat.

 

Fuming, the Iron-Blood Alchemist turned on his heel and stomped back away. “I hate that damn hair too,” Alex heard him mutter. “Not bloody regulation...”

 

Alex stood in shock, and turned back to Kimblee tentatively. The man was humming again, doing up his hair. When he caught Alex's gaze, he winked at him slyly.

 

He was smiling, and the expression was contagious, since soon Alex smiled too.

 

Alex was very compromised, and perhaps became a bit obsessed. His letters to home were what one would expect of a young soldier, but the next time he sent his replies, an extra note came along for a more distant relative – one who was quite the accomplished florist.

 

Alex awaited her response almost too eagerly, and when he received it, he devoured the expert penmanship with eager delight.

 

_You want to know the meaning of a crimson lotus, Alex? Why, that's the flower of the heart. It's love and compassion; purity. The strongest that there is. Tell me, Alex, is there a special someone you mean to send one to?_

 

Perhaps there was. It was childish, really; a naïve escapism from the horror of war, but Alex found himself consumed. He spoke to Major Kimblee in small moments, finding himself awed by his high spirits, intoxicated by his voice and hypnotized by his movements. He would hum tunes, he would laugh, and whenever he fixed his hair Alex felt overwhelmed by the urge to run his fingers through it himself.

 

But that was a lie.

 

Alex was on his knees and he felt frozen. He could barely breathe, much less move. He didn't even feel like this was real, or that his body belonged to him.

 

“That was a close one, Major Armstrong. If anyone else were to see, you wouldn't be able to escape a court martial.”

 

The voice barely came through. He didn't know what happened. One moment the Ishvalans were there, fleeing when he granted them the chance, and the next... the next they were gone. Blood soaked into the sand, slowly spreading out in dark red patches.

 

Like flower petals.

 

The Crimson Lotus Alchemist offered out his tattooed hand, and Alex could not make himself meet his gaze.

 

Why did he have that name? There was no compassion in him. There was nothing. Nothing had ever been so wrong – Alex had never been so wrong.

 

“Can you stand?”


End file.
